The Miseducation of Simeon Pratt
by diabelle
Summary: alone in the world, Simeon tries to make the best of things, as a normal boy ... or is he?


"_Crash," and as the vase tumbled to the ground, where it shattered into a thousand little pieces, the residents awoke because of the sudden noise, rush down the stairs to find out what happened, to find out what had caused the noise. Once down the stairs in their living room they would see the little boy, call the police and have him carted of to jail._

Simeon could just see that happening in front of his mind's eye. He had snuck into the secluded cottage yesterday, just before midnight. Looking for a warm place to sleep, something to eat and maybe something valuable or useful to steal.

Simeon had been on his way out when he had accidentally backed into an end table. The collision had caused the vase, which was on the end table to fall over, roll to the edge and drop to the ground. As the vase was falling, Simeon closed his eyes and begged to no one in particular: 'please don't break, please don't break. I don't want to go back to the orphanage. I don't want to go to jail. Please don't break.' He said those lines over and over again in his head.

Five minutes later, Simeon still hadn't heard the tell tale sound of breaking glass and slowly opened his eyes. The vase hadn't dropped to the floor at all. In stead, it was suspended in mid air, halfway in between the rim of the end table and the ground, hovering some twenty inches above it. Simeon stared at it in disbelief, totally focused on the vase.

He still half expected the residents of the cottage to come rushing downstairs to chase him off. Which, due to the time, it was half past seven on a Wednesday morning, was not at all unthinkable. When the grandfather clock in the hallway chimed the time, Simeon snapped out of his trance. He grabbed the vase out of its suspended position and placed it back on the end table, before picking up his bag and hurrying out the back door.

* * *

A postal worker, Mr. Archie Gibbs, who was doing his rounds, saw a small boy slipping through the hedges of Seville Cottage, with a huge bag hanging of his right shoulder. After which the boy walked away from him at a brisk pace.

At that time, he didn't think much of it. Only later that day, when he was enjoying a nice evening, watching the nine o'clock news with his wife, did he realise there was something odd about that boy. The news-anchor was babbling about the situation in Afghanistan, as she had been doing for the last ten minutes but she finally seemed to be wrapping up that segment. Archie listened up when she started the local news report.

"_The police of the town 'Stratford upon Avon' have requested any witnesses that had seen unidentified persons going in or out and around Seville Cottage to come forward…"_

He immediately jumped up and started dialling the number that had appeared on the television screen. He paced up and down as a computerized voice asked hip to, _"Welcome to the reception of the Police force, division Stratford upon Avon. Please hold, someone will soon be taking your call."_

Ten minutes later, he finally got through to the desk sergeant, and was able to tell him what he had seen early that morning, now approximately ten hours ago.

* * *

At the same time, some one hundred and ninety miles away, Simeon, who had gotten a ride from a trucker, was making camp for the night. His stay at Seville Cottage had provided him with a frying pan, a small pot, a torch, a lighter and some foodstuffs. He had built himself a fire and was currently frying some sausages and an egg. At least his stomach would be full before he went to sleep tonight.

The sausages had been a little bit black around the edges but quite edible. They didn't teach cooking to ten year olds at the orphanage, even if they were about to turn eleven soon. After polishing of the pan with a slice of bread, Simeon rolled himself in a blanket next to the fire before nodding of.

* * *

In Stratford upon Avon, the police were looking into the missing person files to see who that small boy could be. The Archie Gibbs had been hauled in, since he had been the only person who had seen the kid even if it had been from several yards away. When DC Smith came out of the file room waving a whole stack of missing person's reports about small boys, people made way to let her through.

Smacking them down in front of their only witness, she said sweetly, "would you please look through these and alert someone if you see someone familiar?"

Growling a quick, "Of course, why else am I here." Mr. Gibbs started leafing through the pages, intently looking at the pictures of the missing boys.

When he had gone through the entire pile without recognising the boy, he asked, "Are there any more missing person's files about little boys available, because he isn't described in any of these. "

The Inspector that was in charge of the case leafed through some of the files and said," May I ask you something, DC Smith? Why are these files all on boys under the age of six? I clearly remember the witness stating that the boy was small. I think it is very well possible that the boy is merely small for his age. If you would be so kind as to bring me the files on the older boys, I think right up to ten years of age should do it I think."

The DC scuttled of back to the file room to look up the requested files, berating herself that she hadn't thought of that fact herself.

* * *

"_Mommy, where are you?" said Simeon as he dashed into the living room after cleaning up his bedroom. _

_It was Christmas Eve; the tree was standing next to the fireplace, where a huge fire was crackling away. Little fairy like lamps illuminated it, bulbs that looked like soap bubbles were scattered across the branches and the foot of the tree was obscured from sight by the humungous pile of presents. _

_"What is it darling? I'm in the kitchen finishing up diner. Why don't you come in here and help me out a bit."_

_"Sure mum. When will daddy be home?"_

_"Soon, love, soon. Will you please set the table, just for the four of us."_

_"Ok, mum. Do you want me to use the fancy stuff or the normal plates?"_

_Simeon's mother stuck her head into the living room and smiled. _

_What a good idea Simeon, use the fancy plates. It is Christmas after all."_

_She then turned her attention back to the stove and heard the porcelain being set down on the table, the glasses ringing together as her little boy was carrying them to the table. The cutlery clambering together as the Simeon gathered some from a drawer. _

"_Done mum."_

"_Ok, dear, now run upstairs and get your sister. Dinner is about ready."_

"_Mum, do I have to?" Simeon whined._

"_Yes!"_

_Simeon trudged back up the stairs, sulking about having to fetch his baby sister; who was playing with her dolls in the nursery. _

"_Clara, dinner is ready, leave your dolls and come down stairs. As soon as daddy gets home we're going to eat." Simeon said haughtily. _

_Clara, who was enraptured by her game, didn't hear Simeon the first four times he repeated his message. Only after he shook her back and forth once, did she put the dolls down and follow her brother down the stairs._

"_I'm home," said Alan, as he hung up his coat, still standing in the doorway. His coat and hair riddled with snowflakes. _

"_Daddy, daddy." Shouted Clara as she bounded down the last few remaining steps, ran across the living room to wrap her father's legs in a big hug. _

_Simeon rushed down the stairs after his sister trying to beat her to their father._

" _Dinner is ready."_

"_Gillian, dearest, you cooked roast beef with mashed potatoes and peas, my favourite," Alan said before kissing his wife and taking a seat. _

Suddenly awake, Simeon sat up and looked around. Maybe he had been found out, or an animal, attracted by the smell of food, had found the clearing he had made camp in. The fire was nothing more than a few dying embers. When he regained his sight, his eyes adapted to the dark, he calmed down, as there was no one or nothing around.

Simeon was quite sad to be awake now, as far as he could recall, he had been dreaming of home… He recalled seeing a Christmas tree, fairy lights and soap bubbles. It had been a nice dream, why did he have to wake up. He dearly missed his family, even his annoying baby sister. He had been missing them for so long now.

* * *

"Sir, Sir, I think we found him," said an extremely out of breath DC Smith as she was panting in the doorway of the inspector's office.

"You asked us to have Mr. Gibbs look at missing person's reports on boys over the age of six. You are brilliant Sir, Mr. Gibbs looked at one of the more recent ones, and recognised the boy from his file Sir. "

As she handed the rather hefty file over to him, she added, "The missing person's report was filed about a week ago by the orphanage where he had been staying."

"Simeon Pratt, I remember that name from somewhere… " the inspector mumbled.

"He was the only survivor of that house that burned down four years ago on Christmas day, Sir."

"Ah yes, Poor boy, that must be why I remember him. Tragic incident really, tragic."


End file.
